


Be Not Afraid

by mysticalmarigold



Series: short fics [2]
Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Injury, Vomiting, Whump, so much whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-27 01:37:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20037763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysticalmarigold/pseuds/mysticalmarigold
Summary: What if “Mulcahy’s War” hadn’t ended so well?(Instead of Father Mulcahy noticing the passenger’s obstructed windpipe, there is a massive car crash.)





	Be Not Afraid

**Author's Note:**

> Like this fic? Find me on Tumblr @sherman-potter ! I love to hear from those who like my work, and I make pretty awesome M*A*S*H gifs. :)

“Be strong and of good courage, do not fear, nor be afraid of them; for the LORD your God, He is the One who goes with you. He will not leave you nor forsake you.”

The dust was settling, and Mulcahy was crying on the ground. 

Well, his eyes were producing tears. He was not actively participating in the crying, but the tears were there. 

He touched his cheeks and looked at his wet hands, covered equally with tears and blood. He had a nasty cut on his cheek, a busted lip, and something wrong with his leg. Honestly, it was numb so he couldn’t feel it, but he knew his leg shouldn’t be twisted and bent like that. He stopped and stared at it for a few moments, taking in what had happened. They’d been driving along when he had noticed the soldier they were transporting was choking. They pulled over to give him some assistance and...

Boom. 

The Jeep flipped, throwing all three men out, and killing their cargo immediately. The blood from the passenger was soaking into Radar’s pants, covering him with it from the knee down. 

“FATHER!”

A plea from a few feet away, underneath an overturned Jeep, was that sweet altar boy. Too innocent for Korea in Francis’ opinion. He should never have been brought here. He should be flirting with girls his age and drinking Nehi colas, not stuck under a Jeep. Goodness, how silly was it that he was stuck under a Jeep, covered in someone else’s blood? It must be so strange for him, so far from Iowa. 

“FATHER MULCAHY, PLEASE!” he begged again. 

Peculiar. He seemed very upset. Francis couldn’t quite put his finger on what all the fuss was about, besides a little fender bender. 

“FRANCIS! FRANCIS PATRICK MULCAHY, FATHER, SIR, PLEASE HELP ME! OVER HERE!” Radar pled, waving his arms around as much as he could. His eyes were also producing tears, and he was acutely aware of that fact. His head hurt so, so bad, and he was tempted to lay down and let the heavy blanket of sleep lay down upon him, but he remembered what Hawkeye said. 

‘Geez, could you talk a little quieter?When you hit your head and sleep, it’s over. Nighty-night, your light’s out. Buh-bye. Don’t fall asleep if you ever get bonked in the noggin, okay? Now, with that said, my head is pounding and I need you out of here. Put the flaps down on your way out. Go on and tell Nurse Able I really appreciated her company. Go. C’mon. Out, Radar!”

Maybe he was being hyperbolic, but Radar knew what he was trying to say. Don’t walk into the light. 

He also knew that vomiting after a head injury was not good, but there wasn’t much he could do about that. Laying in a fair amount of his own sick, someone else’s blood, and his own blood, Radar felt hopeless. 

Father Mulcahy felt curious. 

Finding his way to his feet and walking on his hideously deformed leg, he hobbled over to the sobbing Corporal and sat down in front of him, placing a hand on his head and staring into the trees. 

“It’s funny, Radar.”

Radar sniffled and wiped his nose, the bile in his sinuses making his eyes water even more. 

“What?”

“It’s funny how the bible always says, ‘Be not afraid, I am with you always.’ I don’t know about you, Radar, but I am noticing a distinct lack of God in this very moment. Perhaps even the whole absence of Him. It’s jarring, to say the least.”

The whole time, Father didn’t move his eyes from the trees behind the flipped Jeep. 

“I...okay Father Mulcahy, that’s true and fine, but I need your help. I hit my head pretty hard, and I’m stuck under the car. I need your help.”

Radar’s voice warbled. Father Mulcahy nodded and grabbed Radar’s arms, pulling him out from under the Jeep with relative ease. 

The ease was because Father Mulcahy, in his shock, pulled Radar with a strength he hadn’t previously tapped into. A sharp piece of hardware hanging down from the underbelly of the metal beast left a pretty awful gash in the center of Radar’s back, but no further harm came his way. 

“Ow! Oh geez, Father. That hurt!” Radar whined, rolling over from his belly onto his back, a movement only ending in another groan of pain. He pressed his hand to his back, sticking his shirt to the cut, and tried to stop any bleeding. 

“Oh. I’m..I’m so sorry, Radar. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

Radar met the Lieutenant’s line of sight with a pained look on his face. There was nothing behind his blue eyes. It was like a light had gone out, and there was nothing. 

Nothing but fear. 

Radar had seen that look before. In a cow, the one they were gonna slaughter and save for the winter, right before his uncle delivered the stunning blow. Radar hadn’t meant to look, he’d been told by his mother to start playing with his brother, a distraction, but he looked out the kitchen window at an inopportune moment. The fear in the cow’s eyes was palpable, and it made him feel so sick that he came down with a fever for about three days. 

He decided then and there that he would allow no animal to come to harm if he could help it. And right now, Father Mulcahy was more animal than human. 

“It’s alright, Father. You didn’t mean to d—holy cow! Your leg!” 

Radar’s jaw dropped as Mulcahy looked down to his own leg. 

“Ah, yes, I suppose it is rather...mangled.”

Mangled was putting it nicely. That thing looked...for lack of a better term, real crappy. Real, real crappy. 

He placed a hand on the Father’s foot. 

“Sit down, will ya?”

The priest nodded and crumpled to the ground with a thud. Radar’s eyebrows furrowed at the sound, but the Father was out, cold. He probably didn’t even feel the pain from the fall. The same way Radar realized he couldn’t feel anything from the hips down. The same way he felt like he was watching himself dissolve into sobs instead of feeling the fear and anger set in. He didn’t feel the pain either. 

Then there was one, and he would be waiting for a long time. 

————————————————————————

Colonel Potter had refused to leave any stone unturned when they couldn’t find both Radar and Father Mulcahy. Radar had a penchant for being a little late when he was coming back from a transfer, sometimes he got turned around along the way, but Mulcahy surely would’ve fixed any wrong turns they’d taken. That’s why he sent out a fleet of as many men as he could spare to go and find them. 

Hawkeye refused to stay around. 

“We have no wounded except the ones of our own who could be laying in the Korean woods, or worse, in a POW camp!”

Potter nodded. 

“I know, Hawkeye. I know.”

He took in a deep breath. 

“Go on, and don’t come back without Radar and Mulcahy. I’m counting on you.”

Within fifteen minutes, Hawkeye was behind the wheel of a Jeep with nothing but a first aid kit in his passenger seat. They needed one surgeon left behind, so Frank stayed, and BJ was checking around the area. Hawkeye was alone, and he didn’t know if he was grateful for it or deeply afraid. 

After following their route to the front, just as Radar and Mulcahy had planned to go, Hawkeye came upon a cloud of smoke rising from behind some trees. Slowing to a crawl, he drove closer and closer to the source of the smoke. He slammed on the brake as hard as he possibly could when he saw Father Mulcahy passed out by the side of the road. 

Leaping out with his bag, he yelled at the top of his lungs, scared shitless that they wouldn’t hear him and would think he was an enemy sneaking up on him. 

“FATHER! RADAR!”

Radar crawled (or rather, dragged the bottom half of his body behind himself) his way to the side of the road as Hawkeye ran, full speed, towards them.

“Hawkeye!” Radar gasped, letting the tears in his eyes spill down his cheeks. He pulled himself closer before Hawkeye dropped to his knees next to him. 

“Stop, stop! Don’t move. What happened? Are—are you alright?” 

Radar nodded, biting his lip and moving to sit on his hip with his legs to the side. His eyes were filled with tears of pain and relief. 

“We must’ve hit a land mine or somethin’. I just remember a boom. I was holdin’ on to the steering wheel so hard that when the Jeep flipped, I flipped with it. Father Mulcahy flew and...and...”

Hawkeye saw more tears brimming in Radar’s eyes. 

“...and the passenger didn’t make it, did he?” Hawkeye added softly. 

Radar shook his head.

“I hate to call attention back to myself, sir, but my head hurts bad. I think I cut it when I hit it, same with my back, although that happened when Father pulled me out from under the Jeep. Oh, and not to mention my legs. I can’t feel my legs.”

He paused. 

“I..can’t feel..my legs... Hawkeye, I can’t feel my legs!” 

He met Hawkeye’s eye with a wild, fearful look. 

“I CAN’T FEEL MY OWN DAMN LEGS!”

Hawkeye cupped the Corporal’s face in his hands, squishing his cheeks to make him resemble a fish. 

“If I was afraid for your legs, would I have driven off for backup by now?”

Radar paused, thinking and settling his breathing. 

“...yes sir, I think you would’ve.”

“You should trust me. I’ve never lied to you before, have I?”

“Well, there was that one time where you said that the shot wouldn’t hurt, and then it hurt a lot!”

Hawkeye paused as well. 

“Radar, you have a point. But you’re just gonna have to take my word for it, okay?”

Radar understood. He had to. 

Hawkeye was lying through his teeth, but he refused to give Radar even an inkling that he was concerned. The stress wouldn’t do him any good, and he wanted to spare the kid all the pain he could. 

“Now,” Hawkeye began, “I’m going to pick you up. You’re in no state to walk. I need you to hold on really tightly, okay? I’m not as strong as BJ, I can’t throw you over my shoulder like he can, the show-off.”

Radar cracked a smile, just to appease Hawkeye. He didn’t like it when BJ threw him over his shoulder, but he allowed it to happen because it made the two of them so giddy, and it sort of reminded him of Uncle Ed. 

Hawkeye gently lifted Radar off of the ground, the kid accidentally smearing blood on the back of his jacket as he held half his weight, and Hawkeye the other half. 

“Aaaaalright, down you go.” he mumbled, setting Radar down in the backseat, across all three seats. 

“Radar, you can let go now.”

“Right.”

“Don’t worry, kid. You’re gonna be okay. I’ll have you back on your size six feet in no time. In the meanwhile, don’t move.” he added seriously, a jarring shift from his joking tone to a more solemn one.

“I don’t know what you’ve done to your back to cause the paralysis, and you moving around could make it worse. You could be permanently paralyzed if you don’t stay still. If you stay still, you’ll be okay.”

Radar cringed. He was so tired, Hawkeye could tell by the wrinkles around his eyes and in his forehead. He was just a kid. 

“But will he?” he asked, gesturing to Father Mulcahy with tears streaming down his face. 

Before Hawkeye had a chance to answer, Radar placed his hands on his face and let out a heaving sob. He would’ve paid a million bucks to have his teddy bear right now. 

Hawkeye pursed his lips and patted Radar’s knee, turning on his heels and jogging over to Father Mulcahy, who looked very...peaceful. 

Too peaceful for Hawkeye’s liking. He took his pulse—weak and thready, but there. Better than the alternative. 

“Father? Father?” he mumbled in a sing-song tone. Nothing. 

He took a look at the leg, moving it a little more than he ever would’ve if he thought Mulcahy was awake to feel the pain. 

“Oh, for the love of G—“

“Mmm...” groaned the priest, growing more conscious by the second. Hawkeye sped to look at the leg in greater detail before Mulcahy was aware enough to be upset by the pain necessary to examine the leg. It was so mangled, beyond recognition. 

“Oh, Christ!” Mulcahy slurred, looking out from under droopy eyelids. He was met with a less-than-confident Hawkeye Pierce and blinding pain. The pain was so bad that all he could muster was a guttural moan and some tears. He thrashed around, grabbing his face and screaming into the palms of his hands. Hawkeye had to grab his hands to keep him from digging his nails any further into his skin. It was a battle to keep him from further mutilating himself to cope with the pain, and doubly hard because of how strong Mulcahy really was and how much he wanted a way to distract himself. 

Hawkeye had never seen pain like that. He cringed when Father Mulcahy took the Lord’s name in vain, and almost covered his ears when he screamed. It was honestly a welcome reprieve when, after only thirty or so seconds of pure agony, Francis’ eyes rolled back into his head and he lost consciousness. 

Hawkeye scooped him up, trying desperately to keep him unconscious, and slowly walked to the Jeep. He was about thirty or thirty-five pounds lighter than Radar and obviously easier to carry, but the challenge came with placing him in the Jeep. Hawkeye wanted to put him in the backseat, but Radar needed to be there to relieve pressure on his spine. 

“Help me move.” Radar commanded from the backseat, wiping his runny nose with his jacket sleeve. 

“C’mon, he needs to be back here.” he coaxed. 

Hawkeye grimaced, stared, then nodded. If Radar was brave enough to give up his safety, Hawkeye would not be the man to stand in his way. 

Radar scooted to the very edge of the backseat, placing his legs on the floor, while Hawkeye strained and placed the small priest down in the seats. He then went around the car, pulled Radar out, drug him around the car, and helped him into the passenger seat. Once more, he went back to the backseat to settle Father Mulcahy in, fiddling with the seatbelt and strapping him in. 

This was going to be a long drive. 

————————————————————————

“WOUNDED! I’VE GOT WOUNDED!” Hawkeye yelled from the Jeep as he flew into the 4077th at speeds he hadn’t been sure a Jeep could reach before today. Slamming on the brakes as gently as he could in an attempt to try and keep Father Mulcahy asleep, he jumped out and yelled for help. 

“POTTER! MARGARET! BJ! FRANK! SOMEONE, ANYONE!”

The first by his side was the ever-effervescent Nurse Kellye, who was looking awful pale and sick at the sight of bloody Radar and the Father, concerned lines on her forehead. 

“Wha..what do you need?” she asked softly, not taking her eyes off of Radar. 

“A gurney. Two gurneys. Two units of whole blood, AB positive for Mulcahy, and...and...Goddamn it, why don’t I know Radar’s blood type?”

Nurse Kellye grabbed his dog tags and read aloud, “Walter Eugene O’Reilly, blood type...O-! He’s O negative! What else do you need?”

Hawkeye thought for a moment as Kellye distributed the information to the nurses and medics around her.

“Mulcahy is a leg injury, Radar has a..head injury. I don’t want to put him under, but we have to. We don’t have a choice. I..I can’t think of anything else. Just get them prepped for OR, and can somebody PLEASE get me a gurney for Radar!”

“Sir.” Kellye began, placing a hand on Hawkeye’s arm as he stared at the ground in thought. 

“With all due respect, I can do this just as well as you can. Go find Margaret and Frank.”

Hawkeye, for the first time in his life, yelled at Kellye. 

“No! No, you can’t. You don’t know what they need. I do! I’m their doctor, I’m in charge, so get me what I fucking asked for!”

Kellye looked him up and down. He looked like he was going to vomit, cry, and scream again, all at the same time. She knew how it felt to watch your world crumble around you, she felt that way when her father died. She nodded and did as Hawkeye asked, but she would not forget to tell him off about it later. He didn’t need a telling off right now, he needed her help. And her help he would get. 

As Kellye ran off to supply to get what Hawkeye requested, four more orderlies came up with two gurneys between them. As one went to lift Father Mulcahy’s unconscious body out of the Jeep, the other went to get Radar. 

“Stop! For fuck’s sake, stop!” he bellowed at the orderlies. 

“He—he has a spinal injury. Between T12 and L2. If we move him too hard, we could cause the severing of nerves in his spinal cord, leaving him paralyzed for the rest of his life. Do you want to paralyze Radar?” 

Seeing Hawkeye lose his cool and bark at the orderlies was...out of the ordinary, to say the least. 

“Huh? Answer me!”

The orderlies shook their heads in shock and allowed Hawkeye to orchestrate the moving of the two men. He singlehandedly picked Father Mulcahy up, bridal style, and laid him down gingerly on the gurney in between the two orderlies, then moved on to Radar. He would be on one side carrying Radar’s gurney, because he could barely trust the guy on the other side but he couldn’t carry it alone. It was hard to lift Radar so slowly and so tenderly so as to not cause any more trauma to the spinal cord, but Hawkeye got it done.

Following the gurney with Mulcahy on it into pre-op, his heart finally stopped pounding. They were safe and home, and Hawkeye was going to take care of them. It would all be okay. 

————————————————————————

In the meantime, Kellye was prepping Radar while Margaret wrangled Mulcahy. He wasn’t much to wrangle, as he was unconscious, but he was about 120 pounds of dead weight to move around all on her lonesome. As she began to remove his olive drab pants to allow the surgeons access, she blushed slightly. 

“Sorry, Father.” she whispered as she cut all the way up the leg. He wasn’t around to appreciate her comment or even notice what she was doing, but it made Margaret feel better. 

Kellye was more focused on making sure Radar wasn’t going to become chopped liver once they put him under. 

“Do you remember how hard you hit your head? Did you have any memory issues after, or any extreme pain beyond a normal headache, like hot water or lava was being poured on your head?”

Radar groaned as she cleaned the cut on his forehead with alcohol. 

“No, not that I can remember. I mean, I can remember! I remember it all. But I don’t remember any pain from anything other than the cut and the bang.”

Kellye’s mouth twitched as she placed gauze on Radar’s forehead. 

“Okay, I think you’ll be alright. Make it through this surgery, okay? I can’t be without you as a dancing partner. Hawkeye won’t stop making faces when we dance and BJ steps on my feet, so you’re my only option.” she said with a smirk, placing a chaste kiss on his cheek. Radar smiled sleepily back at her. 

“I will, I promise.”

“I’ll buy you a grape Nehi when you’re out.”

They squeezed hands before she wheeled him into the OR, her heart pounding even harder than his. 

————————————————————————

Before he could operate, Hawkeye collapsed on the bench in the scrub room. It was all too much, and he needed a moment to himself to collect his thoughts. 

He knew, for as long as he lived, he would not be able to cast out the sound of Francis Mulcahy’s screams, or the sheer terror on Radar’s face when he finally realized he couldn’t feel his legs. He couldn’t forget those. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t. It wouldn’t be the first time, either. 

Benjamin Franklin Hawkeye Pierce held himself as he let the silent tears slip down his nose and onto his lap. Why couldn’t it have been him? He was acting like an idiot, they weren’t dead. Just hurt. But he wished it had been him all the same. 

“Hawk!”

BJ’s radiant face appeared from behind the curtain separating the scrub room from the OR. Dressed in olive drab, he was an island, and Hawkeye was drowning in a sea of his own fears. 

“Hawkeye, what the hell is wrong? You found them! They’re alright!” 

His voice was ardent, but Hawkeye’s face was anything else. He took a seat on the bench next to Hawkeye and clasped his hands together, feeling rather useless. Waiting for Hawkeye to bring his head up for a breath, BJ rubbed circles with the palm of his hand on Hawkeye’s back as he took in and let out ragged breaths. 

After a minute or so of silent tears, Hawkeye lifted his head and dried his eyes. 

“I was so scared.”

“I know you were. If you weren’t, I’d be scared. I’m thankful you’re taking one for the team.”

Hawkeye scoffed. 

“I really thought I’d never find them, and when I did, I wished I hadn’t.” 

His gaze had yet to lift from the floor. Making eye contact with BJ just seemed too hard right now, and he knew the other man would understand. 

“But you did. You saved their life. You’re the reason they’re not in a POW camp, or worse, dead.” BJ explained, the best he knew how. Hawkeye hated being the hero but sometimes he needed to accept that he was one anyways. 

Hawkeye took a deep breath, held it in, let it out, and grinned like a fox. 

“Let’s get in there, Beej. After all this, I’d hate to be the reason they die.”

“Go cry into Radar’s spine.” BJ teased, nudging Hawkeye off the bench. 

Hawkeye mimicked laughter and went to scrub, but he truly did feel better than before. Not good, but better. They both had the same thought:

This was gonna be a long night. 

————————————————————————

Father Mulcahy woke up in a significant amount of discomfort. His right leg was up in a sling, and his mouth was stiff with stitches in the corner. His head hurt pretty badly, but with all that said, he was alive. 

The nausea took over almost immediately and he began to dry heave off the side of the bed, grabbing Klinger’s attention. When he vomited, he vomited hard. It was perhaps the most aggressive thing about him, and it was entirely out of his control. Klinger managed to get a bucket under him before he brought any substance up to the surface. It was a very close call. 

“Oh geez, Father,” he chided during a break in the hurling. “Can you imagine what would’ve happened if I hadn’t gotten this bucket under you? These shoes are Alden’s! They may not be high-fashion, but they are sold at a low, money saving price, and I am a man who can appreciate a deal.”

He chuckled to himself for a moment before Father Mulcahy began to throw up again. He didn’t know quite what to do, he was no nurse, but he knew what he liked to have done to him when he was sick: he liked to have his back rubbed and his hair moved out of his face. So he did just that, rubbing Father Mulcahy’s back and moving his hair off of his forehead when his bangs fell in his eyes as a result of forceful heaving. 

Father Mulcahy laid back onto his pillow and tried to wipe his mouth with the sleeve of his pajamas. 

“No no no, let me get it.” Klinger pled, running over to the sink to wet a rag and returning quickly. He gingerly wiped Mulcahy’s nose and mouth before folding the rag and wiping some of the sweat off of Mulcahy’s face. 

“Boy, you really go for it, don’t you?” he teased with a smile. “Remember, it’s a marathon, not a sprint.”

Father Mulcahy didn’t have the strength to laugh, so he just gave Klinger a tired smile in return and let him continue wiping his face. 

“Would you like your glasses?”

A small nod from Mulcahy. Klinger nodded back and gently placed them on the priest’s face. 

“You’re not sick or anything, that’s just what happens when some people first come off the anesthesia. Propofol’s a hell of a drug.” he added with a wink before collecting the bucket and rag and going to dump out the waste. He looked very sharp with his lab coat. He wore no hat today, but he was wearing smart green dress and matching shoes. A low, sensible heel with a strap. Mulcahy had become acquainted with the shoes while he was bent over the side of his bed and Klinger was sat next to him, his shoes in Mulcahy’s line of sight every time he went to put his head in the bucket again. Oh, thank the Lord for Klinger. He was a good man. 

Mulcahy’s thoughts drifted to Klinger’s more...unusual fashion choices in the past as something to think about before the ever alluring nature of sleep drew him in. 

Klinger was sure to remove his glasses just a few moments later after he’d fallen back asleep, just to be sure they weren’t rolled over or slept on. 

————————————————————————

“BJ, can you retract a little more? I just need a little more visualization.”

“Suction.”

“Please, everybody, be quiet for just a minute. I’d rather not ruin the kid’s life.”

After a few hours in OR, Hawkeye had finally finished operating on Radar. He had traumatic spondylolisthesis, grade 2, which required Hawkeye to go in surgically and perform a discectomy, much to his dismay. He never liked messing with the spine. It was too important. A guy could live normally while missing a kidney or his gallbladder, but he needed his spine to be in perfect working order. 

It was too soon to tell if the loss of sensation was to do with the spinal injury or the concussion, but Hawkeye was hoping—no, praying—for it to be the spine. If it was the spine, he had just fixed it. If it wasn’t the spine, Radar was in dire need of help. More help than Hawkeye could give him. 

As soon as the two surgeons walked into their makeshift locker room they shared with Colonel Potter and Charles, BJ wrapped Hawkeye in a tight hug. 

“You did it! You were scared shitless and you still did it!”

Hawkeye finally allowed himself to smile back. 

“I did it!” he exclaimed, holding BJ by the shoulders and shaking him. 

“I did it, without a hitch!” 

“You did it!”

“I did it!”

They could’ve gone on for minutes, but Hawkeye realized he needed to do rounds. 

“C’mon, let’s go see Mulcahy.” 

BJ was chomping at the bit to go see how his handiwork was holding up, especially on Father Mulcahy’s lip. He knew Hawkeye was too. Just as much, if not more than he was. Radar would still be under anesthesia when they went in and would be no fun to play with, but Mulcahy may be up by now. 

Stripped of his white scrubs, BJ forged ahead into post-op. His cheeks were rosy with the thrill of fixing what was broken, even if he was bone tired. There were no complications yet. All was well with the world. 

Hawkeye felt differently. 

Though he was enjoying the high of a successful, difficult surgery as well, seeing Father Mulcahy would’ve reminded him of what he’d seen this evening. Every time he closed his eyes, Mulcahy’s horrified face was there, plastered on the back of his eyelids. Radar’s sobs were playing in the background of his mind. He didn’t know how to stop it. It was driving him crazy, and he was ready to cry again. He wasn’t going to, of course, but he’d be a damn liar if he said he didn’t want to, even a little. Hawkeye stayed back in their locker room, processing what had just happened. 

————————————————————————

“Father! How are you doing?” BJ chirped, grabbing Father Mulcahy’s chart and giving it a once-over. 

“I’m alright.” he responded sweetly. 

“A bit banged up, but alright. Were you the one to...?” he asked, gesturing to his leg. BJ nodded and took a breath. 

“You were in real sorry shape, I’ll tell you that. You managed to dislocate your knee, which is a problem in and of itself, and got yourself a pretty nasty tib-fib fracture. I placed a metal plate along the side of your femur to keep the fracture site stable. I don’t know if we’ll need to remove it when you’re healed, it all comes down to how it affects you. If it causes discomfort, we take it out. If not, we can leave it in. Either way, you’re gonna be in that cast for a little bit.” 

BJ hated to be the bearer of bad news, but he was the surgeon. What was he gonna do, lie to him? Out of the question. 

“I see.” Father Mulcahy nodded thoughtfully. 

“But hey! If you do as well as I think you will, we can move you back to your tent later today for some peace and quiet. How does that sound?”

“Fantastic.” he mumbled with a small smile. To be frank, he couldn’t care less where he went. He was just tired and wanted to be left alone. BJ wasn’t stupid, he could sense it, so he checked Mulcahy’s cast one more time before buzzing off. 

————————————————————————

Hawkeye sat in a wooden chair, arms folded, sound asleep. His head was tilted slightly to the side and he snored lightly. When Radar woke up, he was the first thing he saw. 

“Hawkeye. Hawkeye!” Radar hissed at a low volume, swatting Hawkeye’s arm with the back of his hand. 

“What? What, I’m up!” he mumbled groggily. 

“You fell asleep. You should go to bed...in a real bed.” 

Hawkeye stood and examined his chart, biting his lip. He didn’t want to leave yet. If he left, he wasn’t positive that Radar was okay. He couldn’t trust anyone else with the kid’s future. 

“Your vitals are good.”

“Thanks, I’ve been working on them all night.”

Hawkeye shot him a look. 

“Was that..? Was that sarcasm?”

Radar tried to swallow a giggle but failed. Hawkeye did the same, but with a cackle. The two laughed together for a few moments before they trailed off and wiped their eyes. 

“Oh, kid. You know you scared the shit out of me?”

“I’m sorry, sir.”

Hawkeye shook his head and nudged Radar’s shoulder. 

“Don’t be sorry. I’m glad you scared me. I prefer that to you making me mourn, y’know.” 

“I know. I’m sure glad I’m not dead too. That might not be fun.” 

“Ah, c’mon. You’d be an angel in heaven if I’ve ever met one. You and Mulcahy’d be in good shape up there.”

Radar blushed slightly. He didn’t think himself much of an angel, but it was a very high compliment to receive. 

“Go to bed, Hawkeye. I’ll be fine here. Major Houlihan promised she’d be over first thing in the morning and so did BJ. Go, sleep!” He gave Hawkeye a weak shove before closing his eyes and snuggling into his blankets. He cracked one eye open and gestured towards the door before squeezing his eyes closed and pretending to be asleep. 

“You silly kid.”

“Hey, Hawkeye?”

“Yeah?”

“I love ya. I know that’s weird for one guy to say to another guy, but I do. You’re the closest thing I’ve got to family down here. Thank you.”

Hawkeye’s lips curled into a smile as he laid his hand on the door. 

“Love you too, kid.”

He bristled at the cool night air and pulled his standard issue jacket a little tighter around his thin frame. Hightailing it over to Father Mulcahy’s tent, he could feel himself waking up more and more every moment. The cold and the adrenaline made for a wide-awake cocktail. 

Three quick knocks on a wooden door. 

“Father Mulcahy? Are you awake?” Hawkeye hissed through his teeth. When he got no response, he gently pushed open the door and closed it behind himself. What he would’ve liked to see (or rather, was expecting to see) was an angelic Mulcahy sleeping like a baby with his leg propped up on a tower of pillows.

What he was met with was a man who looked like he’d seen hell. Instead of his leg being propped up and Mulcahy being fast asleep, he sat on the edge of his cot with his legs splayed, hands over his mouth. He was staring at the wall, looking like one of the shell-shocked soldiers they got sometimes. 

“Father, are you alright?”

He was granted no response. At least, not a verbal response. Tears began to stream out of Father Mulcahy’s eyes as he stared at the wall of his tent. His whimpers became more and more pathetic by the second. Hawkeye took a seat beside Mulcahy on his bed and wrapped his arm around him. 

Mulcahy sat, still as possible, for about five seconds before leaning over and crying into Hawkeye’s shirt. Great, heaving sobs. He grabbed Hawkeye’s shirt as he wept, and Hawkeye didn’t know what to do other than hold him. So he did. 

Wrapping both of his arms around the priest, he turned him so they were facing each other and hugged him tightly. 

“I...was so...scared.” he muttered between sobs. He was now clinging to Hawkeye like he was the only thing keeping him alive. He sobbed and wailed, lamenting the trauma he’d been through. 

“I hurt Radar!” he whimpered through his teeth. This comment only brought on another tsunami of tears rolling down the priest’s face. 

“I hurt him...I hurt him!”

Finally, he took a deep breath.

His breathing only slowed from there, and after another minute, Father Mulcahy was able to remove himself from Hawkeye. 

“I’m...I’m so sorry. I don’t know what...what came over me.”

Hawkeye nodded. He’d had his fair share of those moments. 

“You’ve been through something that no person should be forced to live through. You just experienced more pain in a few hours than most people will experience in their whole lives. You’re entitled to a little breakdown.”

Father Mulcahy looked down at his hands. 

“I don’t feel safe. I-I know there’s no reason for me not to, but I don’t. I’m afraid to sleep. I just want to keep a lookout. I think...it’s because I’d give anything to never experience anything like that again. And if I’m sleeping, I can’t stop it.”

Hawkeye took a moment to think. When he had nightmares, BJ offered to stand guard and wake him if it looked to be a bad one. Maybe he could do the same for Francis. 

“I’ll stand guard. I’ll stay awake while you sleep.”

Mulcahy blinked. 

“You’d do that for me?”

“Of course I would. Let’s get into bed first, though.”

Much to his chagrin, Mulcahy allowed Hawkeye to tuck him in and make a stack of pillows to prop his leg up on. 

“Alright, you’re snug as a bug in a metaphorical rug. Now, please get some shuteye. I’ll be here the whole night. There ya go! Goodnight, Father.” 

Regardless of what had happened, Mulcahy felt that he would be okay. By the grace of God and Hawkeye Pierce, he’d be okay. 

“Goodnight, Hawkeye.”

**Author's Note:**

> holy FUCK wasn’t that a doozy. i don’t like the ending, it’s not as happy as i would like it to be, but that’s the way i feel it has to be. this took me so long to write please enjoy it. the scene between mulcahy and klinger was my favorite i’ve ever written, so please enjoy it. <3
> 
> Like this fic? Find me on Tumblr @sherman-potter ! I love to hear from those who like my work, and I make pretty awesome M*A*S*H gifs. :)


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